Elena's POV
Céleste stood in the lamplight like a predator who'd found wounded prey.
"Answer me, Elena." Her voice was honey-sweet poison. "Who's your friend?"
Adrian stepped in front of me, his body a shield. "Leave. Now."
"Oh, protective." Céleste's eyes gleamed. "How romantic. Elena, you've been holding out on the family. Does Grandmother know you're dating someone? Someone so... distinguished?"
My heart hammered. "This is none of your business."
"Everything about you is my business, sister dear. Especially when you're sneaking around at midnight with mysterious men." She raised her phone, snapping another photo. "Julian will be so interested to hear about this. And Grandmother—well, she'll want to meet your new boyfriend. Make sure he's suitable for a Moreau."
"Stop it," I hissed.
But Céleste just smiled, that cruel smile I'd learned to hate. She wasn't here by accident. She'd followed me. Had probably been watching me for days.
"How did you know I'd be here?" I demanded.
"I didn't. But I've been tracking you since you moved into that pathetic apartment with Margot." She examined her nails casually. "You visit a lot of old buildings, Elena. Taking photos. Playing with your broken antiques. It's sad, really. But when I saw you rushing here at midnight, I knew something interesting was happening."
Adrian's hand twitched toward me, then dropped. He couldn't touch me. The curse wouldn't let him.
Céleste noticed. Her eyes narrowed. "That's odd. You're standing so far apart. Like you're afraid to get close." She tilted her head. "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "We were just talking—"
"At midnight. On a bridge. Standing three feet apart like you have the plague." Céleste laughed. "You're the worst liar, Elena. You always were."
She stepped closer, circling us like a shark. Adrian tracked her movement, his body tense.
"You know what I think?" Céleste's voice dropped. "I think there's something special about your boyfriend here. Something unusual. And I think whatever it is, it's worth a lot of money."
My blood went cold. "You're insane."
"Am I?" She held up her phone, showing me the photos she'd taken. Adrian's face in the lamplight. Us standing together. The desperate way he'd grabbed my hand. "Because these photos tell an interesting story. And I'm very good at selling stories to the right people."
"Céleste, please—"
"Oh, now you're begging." She smiled wider. "That's new. The great Elena Moreau, begging her little sister. How the tables have turned."
"What do you want?" Adrian's voice was quiet but dangerous.
Céleste's attention snapped to him. "Smart boy. Getting right to business. I like that." She crossed her arms. "I want to know who you are. I want to know why my sister—who supposedly has no money—is meeting you at midnight. And I want to know what secret you're both so desperate to hide."
"Or what?" I challenged.
"Or I send these photos to Grandmother. To Julian. To every antique dealer in Paris." Her smile was vicious. "Your reputation is already destroyed, Elena. But what's left of it will vanish when everyone thinks you're a liar and a sneak. And your mysterious boyfriend? Well, I'm sure the press would love a human interest story about the poor betrayed heiress and her secret midnight rendezvous."
She was going to ruin everything. Again.
Rage boiled in my chest—hot and fierce and months in the making. "You've taken everything from me. My home. My business. My family. What more do you want?"
"Everything you have left," Céleste said simply. "Until you have nothing. Until you're nothing. Just like you made me feel my whole life."
"I never—"
"You were the favorite!" Her mask cracked, showing the ugly jealousy beneath. "Grandfather loved you more. Mother loved you more. Everyone chose you until I finally took something you wanted. And it felt good, Elena. Watching you fall. Watching you break."
Adrian moved so fast I barely saw it. One moment he was next to me. The next he was inches from Céleste, his grey eyes blazing.
"Hurt her again," he said softly, "and you'll regret it."
Céleste stumbled back, actually scared for the first time. "Who are you?"
"Someone you don't want as an enemy." Adrian's voice was cold as winter. "Delete the photos. Walk away. Forget you saw anything."
"Or what? You'll hurt me?" Céleste laughed nervously. "There are witnesses. Cameras everywhere. You can't—"
"I've lived a very long time," Adrian said. "I've learned many ways to ruin someone without touching them. Your business, your reputation, your future—I can destroy it all with a single phone call. So I'll ask once more: delete the photos."
Something in his voice made my skin prickle. This wasn't a bluff. Adrian had power—real power—and Céleste was smart enough to sense it.
Her finger hovered over her phone. "Fine. But I want something in return."
"You're not in a position to negotiate," Adrian said.
"Aren't I?" Céleste's fear transformed back into cunning. "Because I've been researching our family history, Elena. Did you know the Moreaus used to be witches? That we had magic in our blood?"
My heart stopped.
"I found Grandmother's journals," Céleste continued, her eyes gleaming. "About Isabeau Moreau. About the curse she and her mother cast. About immortality."
Adrian went completely still.
"So here's my offer," Céleste said. "I'll delete these photos and keep your secret. But in return, you're going to teach me everything. The magic. The curse. How it all works." She smiled at Adrian. "Because if immortality exists, I want it."
"No," I breathed.
"Yes." Céleste's finger moved to the send button. "Or these photos go to every news outlet in France. Your choice: share the magic, or lose everything. Again."
Adrian looked at me, his face anguished. We both knew what this meant. If Céleste learned about the curse, she'd try to use it. Twist it. Take it for herself.
But if those photos went public, if people started investigating Adrian—
"Twenty-four hours," Céleste said. "Meet me tomorrow night at the old family estate. Grandmother will be gone—I'll make sure of it. You tell me everything about the curse, or I destroy you both."
She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing on the bridge.
I stood frozen, my world crumbling again.
Adrian's hand reached for mine, then stopped an inch away. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should never have asked you to meet me."
"This isn't your fault. It's mine." Tears burned my eyes. "I should have been more careful. I should have known she was watching."
"What do we do?" Adrian asked quietly.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
Your sister isn't the only one watching. Others know about Adrian Thorne. Others have been hunting him for centuries. And now they know about you too. Run. Both of you. Before it's too late. —A Friend
I showed Adrian the message. His face went white.
"No," he whispered. "Not them. Anyone but them."
"Who?"
"The Society." His voice shook. "Immortals like me. But twisted. Cruel. They've been hunting me for 400 years because I have something they want."
"What?"
"The oldest curse in existence." He looked at me, fear and desperation in his ancient eyes. "Elena, if they find out you're a Moreau—if they discover you can break curses—they'll come for you. They'll torture you until you transfer my immortality to them. Or kill you trying."
My phone buzzed again. Another message:
They're already here. Look behind you.
I spun around.
Across the bridge, five figures stood in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.
And they were walking toward us.
"Run," Adrian grabbed my hand—pain flashed through us both—and pulled me into the darkness. "Run and don't look back!"